Some children were set to reap in a wheat-field. The wheat was yellow
as gold, the sun shone gloriously, and the butterflies flew hither and
thither. Some of the children worked better, and some worse; but there
was one who ran here and there after the butterflies that fluttered
about his head, and sang as he ran.
By and by evening came, and the Angel of the wheat-field called to the
children and said, "Come now to the gate, and bring your sheaves with
you."
So the children came, bringing their sheaves. Some had great piles,
laid close and even, so that they might carry more; some had theirs
laid large and loose, so that they looked more than they were; but
one, the child that had run to and fro after the butterflies, came
empty-handed.